


Softie.

by noxeir



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Drabble, Early Mornings, Fluff, Love Letters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:09:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24842821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxeir/pseuds/noxeir
Summary: Today, Dan wakes up early, early. He wakes up and sees the last of the night fading away, the sky pink, orange, blue, purple. He sees Phil, all soft and beautiful, the sun shining on his face, just shy of his eyes, his skin glowing faintly in the light. He’s so, so beautiful, and for once, he’s fragile, and he’s translucent, steady. Phil is the constant in the equation that is Dan’s life. Dan’s messy, messy life, full of variables and unknowns.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	Softie.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so this was written in a sort of flurry of early morning and evening and really, it's just sappy, but we do be needing that too sometimes

Dan spends his days sleeping and sleeping. He stays up long after Phil, scrolls and scrolls, drinks some tea, puzzles around the house. goes to bed after midnight and curls up into Phil after going through his nightly routine. Sometimes he skips it, skips his routine, too worn out to do anything but curl himself into the warmth and comfort of their bed, the constant of Phil’s heartbeat.

And then Phil will wake up at some healthy hour, or before Dan at least. He’ll make tea and he’ll water his plants and fix his hair. And Dan will sleep, and roll over to Phil’s side of the bed. He’ll sleep and sleep, and then he’ll wake up and shuffle out into the kitchen, all ruffled and soft and he’ll steal Phil’s tea and give him a hug in return. Not that it really matters, Phil always makes extra tea anyways.

Not today though.

Today, Dan wakes up early, early. He wakes up and sees the last of the night fading away, the sky pink, orange, blue, purple. He sees Phil, all soft and beautiful, the sun shining on his face, just shy of his eyes, his skin glowing faintly in the light. He’s so, so beautiful, and for once, he’s fragile, and he’s translucent, steady. Phil is the constant in the equation that is Dan’s life. Dan’s messy, messy life, full of variables and unknowns.

Today, Dan feels rested, and he looks away from Phil’s sleeping form to slowly slip out of bed. He pulls on a pair of mismatched socks, probably Phil’s, and a hoodie, which is definitely Phil’s. His feet make almost no sound as he walks across the room.

He stops at the door frame, looking back at Phil. He now has his arm slung over the spot where Dan usually sleeps, and Dan wants to put his nose in the crook of his neck, and feel Phil’s steady, steady heartbeat. He wants to cuddle into him or maybe just watch. Just watch how pretty he is, how beautiful, beautiful he looks all relaxed, at peace. Bathed in the warm glow of the waning night, of the morning sun.

He doesn’t though. He doesn’t. Because he feels light and he feels rested and he feels. And so Dan walks past the doorframe and into the kitchen. It’s a little chilly, Dan thinks, or maybe it isn’t, maybe it’s just. He fumbles. Untouched. Maybe the air is just new and clear and silent. Vivid. He shakes his head slightly and walks to the window, looking up at the sky.

Leaning his hands on the counter he looks at the way the black fades into blue, into purple, all the way to yellow. He watches the stars fading, and he remembers. He remembers doing this exact thing, at this exact spot, in a different time. He remembers being scared, nervous, maybe even a little afraid. He remembers leaving his old branding, beginning anew, sort of. And that was scary. New things tend to be scary. But they also tend to be a little less scary with Phil.

He’s grown though. He’s grown, past the confines of his old identity, past the constant fear. And that’s what’s important, however many times he runs in down spiraling stairs in his mind, however often the world seems to turn on him, crowd him, suffocate him. Vines across his chest, pushing, choking.

No.

No, no, no. Dan shudders, and clears his mind as best he can. Gets back to the present, back to the melting night, and the vivid, vivid dawn. Just like he’s practiced. He rubs his eyes and begins to shuffle around the kitchen to make some tea. He boils water, finds a cup, finds another one. And then he looks at the clock and puts it back onto the shelve. Phil won’t be waking up for at least an hour. A click tells him the water has boiled, and he finishes making the tea before sitting down by the kitchen table.

Words dance around in his mind, connecting, disconnecting, as he takes in the atmosphere. Words on strings and words by themselves. He feels the itch to write, but when he goes to fetch his computer, he stops. He turns around, and goes to dig in a drawer, and there. Deep, deep, buried under dozens of papers amongst other things, lays an old, beaten up sketchbook.

Past thoughts and memories travel behind his eyelids as he flips through the book, arriving at a blank page. He sets his pencil to the page. Writes the date. And then he writes.

Dan sits at the kitchen table, in the early, early morning, and his words flourish when they hit the page, blooming. He writes about Phil. He writes about Phil and how his heartbeat holds the same steady pace, runs like a thread through Dan’s mind, reigns in his thoughts. How beautiful he looks, adorned with warmth and sun, glowing. How happy he makes Dan, how happy he has made Dan, helping him out of his confining mind. Helped him expand and open and bloom.

He writes about all the ways he loves Phil, how he loves him when he’s soft and sleepy, and when he’s all excited, tripping over his thoughts. Dan loves him even when he has bags under his eyes, when he’s tired, he loves him even when they fight and the bed feels cold. He loves him when he smiles and does his stupid tongue thing, and when he silently asks if Dan’s okay, hugs him for as long as he needs. He writes about how he loves Phil every single day, always.

The pencil makes little clacking sound when he puts it on the table, and Dan yawns before carefully ripping the page out of his book. He closes the book and tiptoes to the bedroom, paper in hand. The letter is left on the nightstand, folded neatly, and Dan is back in the kitchen, watching the sky again.

A clock on the wall ticks, the small hand just passing five. When it reaches six, Dan is sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling on his laptop. Phil pads into the room, teary eyed, and leans over Dan’s shoulders. Dan leans his head back, smiling at him, relishing.

**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading!! please leave a comment if u have the time, i rlly appreciate them<3


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